Unbound, Unchained, Unrestrained
by a-violet-rabbit
Summary: no longer cancelled.
1. Mistakes

The sound of the other children sniffling and whispering was easy for the adults to overlook. She knew this well. Even as she gripped her blade, knowing she had volunteered for this, knowing she had claimed she could win this battle, she began to have doubts. They were scared.

It was easy for the adults to miss. Not her.

They were supposed to divert attention from the main warband, draw the Demacians to the side and cause their weaker forces- the dead men walking who would only get in the way of the true fight- to thin. She had claimed they would eliminate the weaker forces and flank the Demacians as the main warband attacked the front. Dahlia was beginning to regret her decision.

She pulled her helmet off, ash-black hair falling to her shoulders as she let the steel drop. It would be of no use- many Demacian soldiers could cleave it off without an effort. Eyes that many called copper flame looked upon her own, scanning for those children liable to run. Quietly, she knelt beside each one, and swapped their blade for a shortbow.

From a distance, at least they could be useful in some way.

They were children. She was the oldest there at thirteen, and easily one of the better-fed. She was the tallest, standing at nearly five foot six- tall for a girl her age. Her father boasted of it when he was drunk, saying that no man would tower over his daughter. It didn't stand helpful here.

The screech of a Noxian hawk pulled her from her inner workings, whirling on her heel and reaching out an arm for it to land upon. Sure enough, a letter was on its back, stamped by the General- her father. Darius' seal was easy to recognize after growing up around it. She called the children close, demanding whatever flame there was to be brought as she looked within.

Orders. Numbers. Strategy. Diversions and nonsense that would only work if she had full warriors. The orders were simple- to kill as many as they could before they died. Retreat was not an option. The number of Demacians was concerning- they were outnumbered nearly three to one. In the Demacian home territory.

She definitely regretted her claims now.

"If any of you want to run, do it now. Once this begins, there is no retreat. You'll be killed for doing so."

She was more surprised to hear the lack of feet shuffling than she was to her the soft snicker of blades being drawn. At least they weren't cowards.

Quietly, she positioned them. Directed them to group on separate sides of each path they were going to drive the enemy down, covered them in the plants surrounding them. Those who were liable to run and holding bows were positioned in the trees, holding the line above. They could not wait for nightfall. This was a make or break move, and the main warband was counting on the distraction to attack in force.

It was nearly an hour before the entirety of her warband was in place. It was hard. Many could barely stay still. Some were hardly awake by the time they were ready. She knew it would pay off in the end, and bring them at least a semblance of a victory.

A deep breath, and she pressed the horn to her lips. It was the same one that the main warband often used, so the camp would be confused- that was what they were counting on, anyway.

It sounded like the dying wail of a horse.

The first Demacians came down. They ran past, skidding to a stop when they found the empty campsite. The fires still burning. They didn't even see the kids that stabbed them in the back.

And then the real fight began.

Those who hadn't focused on those who ran behind darted out, following her as she met the captain head-on; he was bigger than she was by half a foot, and wielding a greataxe. At least she could fight that. Her shield rose to block the axe, the blade drawing as she dived for the knees. It was satisfying to watch a man doubt her for her size.

They all fell that much harder for it.

Those behind him were muddled. They were easy for her blade to end, even as her band began to falter around her; arrows flew from behind, falling from the boughs like a rain of Hell. It was easy for her to get lost in the lull of battle. She lost track of time, of movement, of sound-

And she was slammed to the side.

She scrambled to get up, eyes finding her assailant- a corporal, judging from the insignia. If he took her down, he'd get a promotion, for sure- if Demacians worked like Noxus, anyway. She was slow to raise her blade to parry the next strike, slow to get to her feet and stumble back- he was stronger than she was. She hadn't anticipated this.

She tripped in the dirt, falling to her back, and crossed her arms over her, hidden under the shield. The pain when it broke through, going through the first arm, was enough to make her scream and nearly black out.

She wasn't sure who had come behind until she saw the man assaulting her fall to the side, and caught the faintest glimpse of the red cape that accompanied her father everywhere he went. His face said she had a lot to explain, even as he grabbed her by the injured arm and shoved her back towards her original camp. Her warband followed her as she listened to the silent order.

She wasn't sure if she hit the ground before she blacked out.


	2. Learning

This chapter was actually kind of awkward to write and may be rewritten in the future. from here on out it'll focus more on Dahlia and her viewpoint; her mother's name should be revealed in the next chapter or so. (I've got a history, power set, and weaknesses plotted out for her but names suck.)

* * *

When she woke, she couldn't feel her arm. She could feel the rather stern gaze of her father, but she couldn't actually feel her arm- it was unnerving. The ground under her was swaying, bumping along- they were in a wagon. They must have succeeded in their effort.

Or at least, the adults had.

She cast a glance to her arm- pleased to notice her hand was still at the end of it- before looking up to her father with a rather sheepish expression.

"Dahlia."

"It was stupid, foolish, I backed away too early, I could have died-"

"You tripped."

She went silent before she could continue, flushing a brilliant red as she tried to object and failed. She knew she had tripped- she hadn't expected him to notice so easily. She should have. "I still managed to complete my orders, Father."

"Barely."

"We had no major casualties."

"You lost half your unit."

"Sacrifices have to be made to win."

He sighed. It was not disappointment in his tone- it was relief. It was something that could be barely told with him- a man so gruff and harsh that most believed he was shouting when he was simply speaking at his normal level, flinched when he said hello. She smiled meekly as he nodded, shoulders dropping in relief of her own. He wasn't angry with her.

"Dahlia, tell me you learned something from this… wreck."

"... I learned that I am still weaker than you, and that I cannot let myself forget that the rhythm of battle never stays steady," she replied uncertainly, good hand rubbing the bandaged splint holding her arm together. "I learned that my footing needs work on uneven ground, and I am still horrid at blocking. And before you say it, no, I could have handled him if I'd seen him a couple of seconds beforehand-"

"But you didn't."

"But I didn't run when I did!"

"... And that, Dahlia, is something I can be proud of. Your mother will be the same once we return to Prime."

"... You're actually proud?"

"Most children your age turn and run at the sight of an enemy that strong," Darius replied, shaking his head as the smallest of smiles graced his lips. "From what I saw, you were in no fashion prepared to fight, but you weren't prepared to run, either. You were wholeheartedly going to attempt suicide fighting that man, and you didn't attempt to use magic."

"... Your warband doesn't use it, so I thought… it would be appropriate to play the part."

"You thought correctly. You would have caused more damage to your own than the enemy at your stage."

The wagon's rocking came to a steady halt, instead graduating to the bumpy ride of cobblestone. She wasn't prepared to step out of anything yet, and she wasn't even sure she could stand properly without fainting at this point in time. She prayed there was time before she had to move.

Her father, on the other hand, stood- he was large for his size, towering over everyone and easily making the wagon look uncomfortably small as he stood. Six feet was rare in a country like Noxus, malnourished as most children were; he was six and near a half feet, easily making impressions. She had loved to ride his shoulders when she was younger, too weak to hold a blade or dance the dance she was learning now.

He opened the cloth door, sitting on the edge for a moment to lean back and ruffle the ashen-black hair that she had inherited from him. "Practice in the wagon. We will be home within the fortnight, and you are not to leave this wagon."

"But-"

"That is an order, my daughter. When you are stronger, you may challenge me, but for now you are barely able to lift your shield."

She sighed as he dropped out from the vehicle, rolling her eyes as she did as she was told; she didn't believe her power was anything but borrowed, nor believed that she would ever need it, but her father insisted that she learn how to use it for some forsaken reason. She pressed her palms together, the weak and flickering flames that rested in her hands when they parted bringing the faintest smile to her face.

Perhaps it was not the worst thing to pass the time.

It was, indeed, nearly a fortnight before they had returned to Noxus Prime. Though painful, Dahlia had pulled her shield back over her arm, refusing to show her injury to those who might abuse it. Her father stood on the side that was injured, knowing that he was protecting a weakness and still settling to do so; she was young, and had shown enough strength in attempting to fight with it.

He knew she would one day hide her weakness on her own. He wasn't sure if he was ready for that thought.

They had sent a report forward via hawk to Swain, knowing that he would need a response as soon as he possibly could receive one, and still they knew they would both need to report directly to the Grand General about the success of the mission. He had been the general directing their movements, and she had been the one in charge of the child warband.

If anyone was to be punished for a failure, it was them. They knew this well as they made their way through the crowded streets, those who were afraid bowing out of the way of the General. She understood their looks, the dirty glances sent her way; many believed she rode on his coattails, not knowing the grueling training that came with being the daughter of both a General and a Mage.

"You are to remain silent, Dahlia."

"Understood, Father."

"Remember your place."

"Of course, Father."

"You are not strong."

"Yet."

She smiled as it earned a laugh from her father, even as he opened the doors to the core of Noxus Prime; it was a comfor tot know that even if death did await her for her mistakes, she could at least bring some light to her father's heart.


	3. Defend Your Own

I wish I wish with all my heart you can tell Darius and Swain apart because I've never written him before and I've never actually seen anyone write him so I'll probably have to rewrite this, too

* * *

The air within the sanctum of Prime was always cold. Dahlia didn't know why; it was here and here alone that she felt the urge to run without looking back. She suppressed the sickening twist in her chest, instead opting to follow her father's lead. He knew this place like he knew his axe. He could never get lost.

She lost track of how many doors they passed, how many guards looked like they hadn't slept in days, how many footsteps they shared between their entry and their destination. One day, she would know this place as well as her father, but not today. Instead, she zoned into the steady march of his boots, matching her own pace with his until they reached the door and she not-so-elegantly slammed face-first into it.

At least she didn't fall back from the impact, instead standing where she was and accepting the look that was being burned into her back. She had earned that.

She reached up with her good arm to hold her nose properly, giving her father a small and awkward smile as he sighed and opened the door she had slammed into.

The smile disappeared faster than she could drop her hand. The Grand General didn't care for unnecessary weakness like compassion or embarrassment. It was a hinderance.

The room was dark, and colder than the rest of the Sanctum; it was hard to see where the Grand General was without the telltale glow of Beatrice's eyes. He was in a good mood today- Beatrice didn't have flesh in her mouth. She prayed he would be at least relaxed towards her.

"I received your reports," came the drawl from the General. "Darius performed well, from what I gather… and you did not."

Her father stepped aside. She knew she had to face the Grand General alone. She just hated facing Swain at all. She squared her shoulders and nodded, keeping her head up in silence.

"Would you mind explaining your failure?" The clicks of his nails were enough to make Dahlia want to bolt.

"There was no failure involved, sir. We did as was required. We distracted the Demacian soldiers and split their forces to allow the main warband to carve through the ranks more… efficiently, so to say." She swallowed. Her knees felt like they were going to give. "The only failure involved was the lack of cohesion between myself and the others I was given command of. It is something I need time to work on with them."

"You should not need-"

"They wanted to run, sir."

The room felt colder as the Grand General stood, and her heart hit her stomach. She felt like she could die here and now. Instead, she took a shaky breath and forced her shoulders to stay down; she would not flinch nor show weakness. It was not Noxian to do so.

"They wanted to run and hide from the battle. It was their first. I remember my own, when I was too young to hold an actual blade in my hand. I wanted to run, too. With practice and exposure to the situation, they will become numb to it and we will have a more viable success rate, _sir._ "

She could feel the eyes of Swain boring into her own, and she felt a twinge of pride in knowing he would find no regret in her. Experience was needed to become strong- even those who had been strong for years knew that. She forced herself to stay still, feeling the tears of anxiety burning in her eyes as she watched him sink back into his chair. She couldn't see Darius from here; he had escaped her field of vision.

"At least you're worth _something_ ," came the response. It sounded mildly amused. "If you had flinched, I would have killed you. Do the same with your new warband, girl; kill those who do not adapt. That is an _order._ Work on your strategy. Inefficiency leads to defeat, and defeat is unacceptable."

Her heart sank further, and yet she still nodded in silence. The gesture that followed was one that dismissed her, but not her father, and she was all too glad to turn on her heel and make for the door. She could see her father's expressionless face and wondered if she had made a mistake as she left, closing the door completely before taking off in a run.

She hated this place. It made her feel like there was no escape.

She didn't stop running, even when she reached the outside, even when the ground changed from solid stone to cobbled. She didn't know where to go but home; she couldn't get away from the Bastion fast enough. It felt suppressing, cold, and she always felt like there was more in the palace than was visible to the eye.

All she wanted to do was burn it all.

She felt the ground come out from under her before she realized she had leapt from the banister meant to keep people from falling; the landing was rough, yet she still kept moving. She had no intention to stop, no intention to look behind her as she went to the one place in all of Noxus that she felt safe; home. No amount of people could keep her from that place. Her mother would be there, forging new weapons for the military as she always was, waiting for the tap on her shoulder that signaled her blood-bound husband was home and her daughter was safe.

The sight of the home by forge was more than welcome, even as she slowed down to a halt, listening to the clang of hammer against steel from within. It was the sound of home to her, the sound she would always associate with power and stable strength. A forge housed the flame, the steel and the ones who could shape it to their will - and those were a select few among the thousands who would wield the results.

Dahlia took her time making her way into the forge, picking her steps carefully so as to avoid hurting herself on the stray shards of steel that hadn't been deemed worthy of weaponry. Her mother was focused, so much so that she hadn't noticed her daughter's presence as she worked. The young warrior couldn't help but smile.

She reached out, the smallest of fires dancing on her fingertips as she touched her mother's ear. It earned her an alarmed noise, and a near concussion as her mother swung around with the hammer in hand.

Dahlia started laughing about the same time her mother did, even sprawled on the ground.

With a flick of her mother's wrist, the fires within the forge faded; it was a beautiful power when wielded so expertly, and Dahlia felt shame creep into her heart as she realized how weak her own was. It did not vanish as her mother reached forward, pulling her daughter up to press a kiss to her forehead.

 _You lived,_ came the familiar signing of her mother.

 _Of course I did. Father had my back._ It was still a process of learning the signs. Her mother had gone deaf years before she had even been born, but it had only been three years ago she had even noticed.

 _I suppose you both deserve something other than legumes._

There was a momentary pause before they both began laughing again, her mother nodding for them to go into the house; it would be nice to sleep on something that wasn't rocking.


	4. Home is the Heart

Time for a Darius-centric chapter because I'm frustrated at the ridiculous comic that was published and I want to write him how I see him. Bite me.

Also, anyone who tries to say he's not a good husband is wrong.

When Darius reached the steps of his shared home with his blood-bound, he found it soundly quiet. It was calm; even though the street was still alive, and the houses surrounding the stand-alone forge were still coming and going, the home was calm. Even as people ducked out of his way, bowing or nodding or even, in some cases, kneeling for half a moment in respect, he paid them no mind.

He was quite ready to retire for the day. The exhaustion had set in, and as strong as he was, even he had to rest. Or so his wife insisted. Her insistence was silent to many, yet he knew better than to ignore her; general he may be, she had the right and the quickness to grab him by the ear.

The door was heavy, thick enough to halt a fire for a time if one broke out. The thud of it opening was satisfying, though not as much as it was satisfying to hear the door close behind him as he stepped inside the small home. It was decorated in a mix of traditional Freljordian and Noxian design; weapons hung from the walls, furs acting as padding to refrain from damage. Furs from his wife's hunts kept the walls from losing the heat inside their home, and his own trophies- helms, cowls, and flags from the places he had been and aided Noxus in conquering.

The soft light from the living room was barely visible from the entrance, but it told him that a fire was going within, and it told him that it was his wife's doing and not his beloved daughter's. As talented as she was, she was still learning, and her fire resulted in smoke more often than not.

His armor came off with a practiced hand, left on the rack they had placed there ages ago to ensure a lack of damage or clutter. His body felt lighter, his heart felt less restrained as he rounded the corner to see the living room. The sight before him was one for sore eyes; his wife, Carryn, resting in the rocking chair he always occupied when home, and his daughter laid across the loveseat near the fire. It was a sight worth fighting to come home for.

Carefully, he found his way to his wife's seat without making the noise that would inevitably wake his exhausted child; he lifted her gently, so as to not wake her if she was indeed sleeping, and sat where she'd been sitting only to place her in his lap. He could feel her body relax against his chest, and cast a quiet glance downward. Her raven black hair had barely shifted, but the blue of her eyes were now staring back at him. They always reminded him of something not quite ice yet not quite water.

 _She's getting stronger._ The tracing was easy to track against his arm; he was used to the feel, he was used to the translation. Ever since she had gone deaf, she had learned how to properly communicate to him during the moments they were close, and the gentle tracing of letters against his skin was easy for him to remember.

 _She will handle it, Carryn. She is Noxian._

 _She bears Freljord blood as well, Darius. Her fire has never known what it is to be cold. If she does not temper it here-_

His eyes closed. The last place he wanted her to go was the Freljord, alone- they would not be able to go with her. His duty was here, to Noxus, and her mother's was to Noxus' forges now. She would be alone, in the cold, for who knows how long until her flames were tempered out and controlled. Yet, he knew that if her fire should overcome her control, then far more than she would burn for it.

 _I fear for her, Darius. But she is older than I was when I tempered mine, and she is stronger than I ever was at her age. We may not have a choice._

 _Where would she go?_

 _Where she needed._

The feeling of grief without loss settled over his heart as his wife looked toward their daughter- adopted by him, with a father his wife had long since forced away. He would never deny she was strong, and only gaining strength with each passing challenge placed in front of her. She was Noxian to the bone, yet he knew Carryn had a valid point.

 _Then let us hope her fire can temper itself._

 _It will, Darius. One way or another. She is our child, after all, regardless of the name she bears here. She is stronger than any of us have ever given her credit._

There was a soft noise that he could barely identify as one of her laughs, a tired one that he'd often heard when he'd come home from a campaign. Her head fell against his chest, and he leaned his own against the back of his chair. Out of habit, his leg had begun rocking them; he was ready to sleep, and deal with the world in the morning. This was what kept him on the front; the desire to keep this safe within Noxus' borders, the want to make sure the peace within the borders would always stay so that this would be possible.

A gentle, calloused hand lifted to gently brush through Carryn's hair as he felt her slip into sleep once more. His eyes stayed focused on the fire in the hearth until it had burned to embers, until his eyes were too heavy to remain open. He feared the day he would wake and this would no longer be, the day he lost all he loved. It was the one thing he would admit he feared.


	5. Power Unknown

This takes place almost three months post-first chapter injury. Just a heads up.

* * *

The fire crackled quietly in her hands, her skin unharmed by the flame that rendered the flames that melted all else it would touch. It had been weeks since she had fought properly, weeks of practicing only her control.

Dahlia would never admit it, but she felt a power in using her flames, a power she simply couldn't find in a simple sword and shield. Even here, in her room, alone in the moonlight, she found herself feeling stronger for the flames at her disposal.

Yet each time she used simply one or the other, she found herself unhappy, found herself feeling as though something was missing. She wouldn't speak of it to her father; he believed magic, as strong as it could be, was a method of cheating. It was part of why he'd fallen for her mother to begin with; she was strong with both weapons and magic, and never used her flame in the heat of battle.

Somehow, she did not believe that was her method.

She looked up, staring at the blade and shield she'd used in her first campaign and every fight since. She was young, yes, but it didn't matter; she was devoted to Noxus, and the cause it stood for. Unity through strength; peace through control. It was a simple concept, though hard to enact. It cost many lives.

It couldn't be avoided. That's what she had always been told. Some part of her doubted it, but the rest knew better; she had no experience worldly, and she trusted that those who were older knew what they spoke of.

Her gaze fell to the arm she had injured, the bandages no longer covering the wound that would undoubtedly leave a scar. It looked as though she had only barely scraped by with her arm. It would serve as a constant reminder of her mistakes; it would always be a mark of her strength to continue with it.

Quietly, she let the flames die out on her hands. Her eyes stared curiously at the now faintly gleaming steel across from her bed, shining in the moonlight as though egging her to come closer. She pulled the blanket off her legs, swinging them out to stand and pick up the blade and repaired shield. Yes, the strength was there- but not strong enough.

She turned her head. It was empty outside her window- surely it wouldn't be that hard to simply…

She was glad she wore breeches to bed now. It was easy to put the belt on, to hook the blade under it and climb over the windowsill in careful silence; her shield caused a minor stir, but after a moment of sitting still in the window, she was certain her parents were too far asleep to notice.

Her bare feet felt the cool ground beneath her, solid and firm and comforting. This was not a dream.

She stepped away from the house. Almost three yards away, she stopped, glancing over her shoulder to make sure neither her father nor mother was watching. Once she was satisfied, she pulled the blade from her belt once more, gripping it as firmly as she could as she focused her gaze on the ground in front of her.

"I am Dahlia of Noxus Prime."

Her hands burned, but the heat was ebbing away. Her eyes closed. She didn't need to see.

"I am rage unbound."

She took her stance slowly, eyes barely opening to see what was ahead of her; the empty stone wall that had once served as a boundary. The there was light emanating from her, from her blade and shield, yet still she felt restrained.

"I am destruction unchained."

Her feet were grounded. Her eyes were focused. It only got brighter.

"I am fury unrestrained."

As she changed her stance, fell into the pattern of practiced sparring she knew so well, she felt free. Her eyes closed, but she felt the heat of the flame in her heart. Her feet left the ground, her blade cut the air, her shield scorched the earth as she turned.

 _I will protect my home with my strength._

Her feet hit the ground again. Her eyes opened when she heard the gasp of another; her head shot up to see her mother in the doorway, overshadowed by her father. She expected anger, scolding; her hands registered pain, and she dropped both her blade and shield. She stared at them both; they were melting, white-hot from flame that still danced along the edges.

Her father's gaze leaped from Dahlia to whatever she had left behind her. Her mother had covered her mouth; even as Dahlia turned to witness the still-flaming wound upon the stone, she could hear the words of the Hand of Noxus.

 _Power overwhelming._


	6. Interlude

Keep this a secret.

Her father had been explicit when warning her of her power and using it around other Generals. They would abuse it, try to goad her into joining their warband instead of heading her own. Her power wasn't honed, wasn't trained, and someone could easily train her to use it for their own purposes.

She knew he had her best interests at heart, and therefore followed his orders. Black leather gloves covered her hands now, a new sword at her side and a new shield on her back. Her eyes were constantly cast away from looking at anyone directly; she herself had noticed a new sheen to them, something brighter than before. Something she didn't want anyone else to notice.

She wasn't sure of her power. She knew that if it went unhoned it would do far more damage to those she cared about than she could afford. She also knew it was drawing her towards something- or somewhere, or even someone- she couldn't understand or comprehend. It was calling her, whispering in her dreams.

She didn't know what was real or where she was meant to be.

She had been told to go spend time with her cousins until further notice, in a tone not unlike an order. She didn't think it was worth disobeying; whatever her parents were doing, it certainly wasn't in her best interest to be around if her father told her so. She'd seen him being outfitted in his most formal attire when she left, her mother calmly helping him with the more intricate parts of the attire; she hoped whatever sh'd done hadn't been too much trouble.

Her pace was steady. She knew the way to the Arena. Her uncle had taken her there so many times it was hard to forge the path; she'd seen so many of his spectacles that she missed having them when she followed her father on orders. Then again, as of late, she'd become almost numb to the vibrant, electrified air of the arena.

Cadence had laughed when she had been told.

She lifted her head when she pushed the door of the arena open, listening to the sound of the Bluvelle triplets doing what they did best- practicing their methods. She didn't blame them; they skewed so wildly that it seemed like they weren't even related, their powers and strengths varying wildly from child to child. They may have been three years younger than her, but they were still powerful.

Cadance had long since merged her magic with the marksmanship her father had taught her, making the arena events even more spectacular when she was allowed to join in. Legato couldn't see, but his music brought strength and comfort to all those who heard it, and fear in the hearts of the enemy; Ostinato was a boy who refused to kneel, and would often wind up bleeding and near passing out from exhaustion before he stopped his training.

Somehow, she wasn't surprised to see Ostin on the ground in full armor when she walked into the main arena. Legato was too lost in his music to notice the presence of someone else, the chords of his mother's etwahl merging in a symphony that could only be matched by the Maven herself.

It was Cadence who paused in what she was doing, daggers in her hands dropping to the ground and losing the faint blue glow of magic as she ran to give Dahlia a hug. The impact was enough to stagger the older girl, though it didn't stop her from hugging the excitable marksman in the making; the three of them were possibly her favourite people to pass time with.

"Hi, Dolly!"

She cringed. She hated that nickname. When they got older, she'd get them to stop. "It's Dahlia, Legato."

"Dolly!"

"... Okay."

They wouldn't be kids forever.

She heard the laughter from the seats above; a familiar laughter, the same one of her uncle. She lifted her eyes, raising her brows as Draven himself waved at her from the seating. He was getting streaks of grey, now; he was only a few years younger than her own father, and though he'd sustained the solid shade for a longer period, he'd earned his fair share of grey streaks since the births of her cousins.

She gave him a smile and a wave. He nodded and leaned back in his chair; they had a much quieter relationship than she had with her father. She supposed that's what came with a family that spoke mostly in musical notes.

"Dolly, why the gloves?"

Her attention was snapped back by Legato. All three of them were now looking at the leather gloves hiding her hands from view, Cadence holding one hand so gently she hadn't even noticed the girl was doing so.

"Ah…. Because I hurt myself. Doctor says I can't take them off for a while."

"Didn't you hurt your arm already?"

"There was an accident in the forge."

"Oh!"

A single moment of hesitation later, and Ostinato nodded in comprehension. This was where having some form of connection with his siblings came in handy, Dahlia supposed; he could understand what he couldn't hear. She didn't understand the connection, and thought it was strange, even for natural born mages. At some point, she'd stopped caring.

They were her family, and that meant she didn't have to understand.

"Can we join your warband?"

She sputtered. It wa a question seemingly out of the blue, and she threw a look to Draven for explanation or denial; all she got in return was a knowing grin and a shrug. Her gaze went back to Legato and Cadence in confusion, though she saw no waver in their stance. Even Ostinato seemed to be looking at her expectantly, seeking an answer that she wasn't even sure she should give.

"Why would you want to join mine…? My father's is so much more experienced-"

"But you're our age. You know what we feel like. Adults forget."

"... that's true. I'll tell you what- you can come with me on the next campaign I'm sent on. When we come home, you can decide for real what you want to do."

Sometimes, her cousins drove her mad in the worst of ways. Sometimes it felt like they were younger than they were, and sometimes it felt like they wouldn't listen to what she said. But the glee in their eyes and the earnest smiles gave her some hope they listened…. sometimes.

...

Her visit was cut short not by choice nor desire. After almost three hours, Dahlia was pulled away from her cousins and her Uncle's obnoxious cheering from the stands by the very Deceiver herself, LeBlanc.

From the moment she saw the illusionist, she had the strangest feeling of crawling dread down her spine.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, darling, but you have been summoned to the the General's Table."

Dahlia's immediate instinct was to move her hand to hide her younger relatives, even as she saw Draven in the stands reach for his own axes. Nobody liked this woman- it was by the grace of the Grand General she was even alive.

"And why am I summoned to the presence of the Generals?" She couldn't help the bitter, snappy tone. Even as a mage herself, she found this woman... distasteful.

"I was told to come get you, girl, not tell you what you want."

"I have a name."

"All corpses think they do."

"I was talking about me, not you."

" _Oh,_ that was clever."

* * *

This is another one of those 'not too sure it flows right' chapters. I'll rewrite it later, when I'm more confident in my own writing.

fun facts about the triplets;

Cadence;A sequence of chords that brings an end to a phrase, either in the middle or the end of a composition.

Legato; Word to indicate that the movement or entire composition is to be played smoothly.

Ostinato; A repeated phrase.


	7. New Beginning

I'm so sorry about the short, unexpected hiatus. This chapter should be the one to really get things moving. Hopefully.

* * *

The walk behind the Deceiver was one she thoroughly hated. The woman was always snobbish, acting as though she knew more than the younger ever could. Even if it may be true- which Dahlia doubted it was- it was horrid to see it written all over another person's face.

She always hoped the witch would die.

She didn't say anything, even as she was led by LeBlanc back to the Sanctum; now, knowing where she was being called, it looked less and less like a place of peace and more like a place of grief and horror. She squared her shoulders, even as the cocky illusionist stepped to the side and sarcastically gestured for her to go first.

She didn't meet her eyes as she passed. She barely acknowledged her existence.

The way to the General's Table was easy, a well-known path that was impossible to miss- no matter which main entrance you came from, all you had to do was walk until you reached the end of the hall. She'd never seen the inside herself, instead always stopping at the ornate, heavy stone doors that had stood there since before the Darkwill family had even existed.

Her hand pressed against the door, pushing it open for the first time; inside was remarkably silent for the fact it had the general of almost every official warband present. Regalia was worn by each and every present member; even Grand General Swain looked like he was about to be recrowned as leader of the Empire. There were still empty seats; generals still out to their campaigns or simply not replaced yet.

Her father's gaze was the only one she could meet.

"Iara Dahlia Vald, daughter of General Darius Vald and Smith Carryn Flameborn."

Swain's voice brought chills to her spine, even as she shifted her eyes from her father's softer gaze to the Grand General's stone one. She refused to let it show, even as she saw the lurking assassins in the shadows; Katarina and Talon both, though the redhead was clearly more amused by the situation than her brother.

"That is my name."

"The Generals have come to a conclusion."

Her eyes narrowed. If they were going to imprison or kill her over the failure on Demacia's borders, she was more than ready to fight tooth and nail before they did. Even as she braced herself for the worst, something told her it was a far different event than that. She supposed it was the fact her father was here and not personally fighting the Grand General.

"You have shown an exemplary bravery to speak out against superiors… and have a point in doing so. You have led your rather… insignificant… warband well enough that you could work almost seamlessly with your father, Darius Vald, the Hand of this Empire."

She cast a swift, confused glance to her father- and even from here, she could see the smug grin he was attempting to hide.

"You and your warband are to prove your worth to us, and you are to earn your right to a true warband, in going to Ionia. You are to lay siege to them for six seasons and return upon the end, regardless of how much you have claimed or how many lost. Your father will be accompanying you, as will Talon and Thorn DuCoteau. They will judge your methods and their effectiveness."

Swain's proposition sent a jolt down her spine. The chance to have her own warband at such a young age was something she should be jumping at- yet something told her she shouldn't be so eager.

"All warbands bring their own form of warfare. Remember your own, and above all else, remember your loyalty."

She felt like she should be more ecstatic than this. She knew it was a wonderful deal, a good thing to be so recognized so early, but a part of her knew it was dangerous, too. Her eyes were drawn to Talon and his daughter in the shadows, barely bothering to conceal themselves as they watched from their silent perch. Katarina herself was sitting in plain view, watching not Dahlia but instead the woman to the left of Darius-

And suddenly, Dahlia felt like she was a mouse in a pit of snakes that were too busy biting each other to notice her yet.

She nodded quietly, smile melting from her face as she bowed her head slightly. She didn't care lower herself enough to lose sight of those surrounding her; this place felt like a coffin for everyone inside.

"May your fight be well won, and return with your pride or not at all."

…

Her father walked beside her as they left, the generals dispersing with little more than sparse farewells. Swain vanished as easily as he'd appeared; others simply mounted their rides and left without a word. She thanked the stars that not all of them had been there- then it would have been a startlingly long procession to show off the strongest of the Empire.

From a distance, she saw the telltale cloaks of the DuCoteau roof-stalkers; Talon and his daughter Thorn were never ones to stick around, and never ones to skip out on overdramatic exits. At least, that was her opinion- who the hell wore a cloak with blades, and who the hell wore bright colours to kill someone?

Something in the back of her mind said the ones who were good at their job.

She felt like she should be celebrating, thanking her father for the opportunity. Yet she knew that an opportunity like this never arose in Noxus without strings attached- too many to keep track of.

The laugh that came from her father was enough to startle her away from those thoughts.

"Why are you laughing?"

"Your hair has been sticking up on the left side for the past half hour."

The ensuing squeak sounded more like a bird than a mouse as she tried desperately to pull the rebelling hair into some form of proper order. It didn't do much to stop the laughter from her father.

* * *

one season is basically six months for Noxus Prime. She's going to be gone for three full _years_ before she and her father return, though this will PROBABLY be cut short in terms of writing. this major time gap is going to be filled with a lot of fun though, so... Ay.


End file.
